


The age to come would say "this poet lies"

by primeideal



Category: Oxford Time Travel Universe - Connie Willis
Genre: Gen, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Time Travel for Historical Research
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22403239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: Colin has an admirer. A not-very-secret one.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: Past Imperfect Future Unknown 2019





	The age to come would say "this poet lies"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Redrikki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/gifts).



> Title from Sonnet 17.

"It's classist, is what it is," Badri protested. "Sure, the conspiracy theorists are famous people, but they're _rich_ and famous, and they can't believe anyone can be accomplished unless they also come from fantastic wealth. It's such a lazy argument."

"You're taking this way too seriously," said Colin. "It's not about wealth, it's about wanting to discover a secret that no one else knows. Breaking codes! Ciphers and anagrams! The same way people get into kabbalah or alleged Biblical prophecies."

"It is not like kabbalah," said Badri. "That's trying to understand a sacred text, to get closer to God. This is point-scoring against the academic establishment because you're afraid of elites."

"A lot of people feel alienated by religion in the conventional sense, for them this is an acceptable alternative. Something on a pedestal, but not trying to tell you how to live your life."

"There's the Church of the Millennium if you don't want traditional religion--"

"Look, it's all academic," said Colin, "it's just something to troll people on the nets."

Down the hall, Kivrin unsuccessfully attempted to hide her snort with a cough.

"What's so funny?" Colin said.

"You," she replied, "forgetting that you live in the twenty-first century, and we have ways of knowing these things."

* * *

Even Kivrin had been brainwashed by academicese. Instead of "making sure Shakespeare was really Shakespeare" his purpose had to be "implementing time travel for the purpose of documenting standard literary assumptions and problematizing dubious revisionist narratives." Rather than "dressing up as an actor" he had to "ethnographically integrate into a troupe demonstrating contemps gender roles." He could not "memorize first drafts" but "gain firsthand evidence at artifacts such as folios."

"This is all dumb," Colin said. "You weren't _engaging with contemps rhetoric about infectious disease_ , you were trying not to die."

"I had to put up with even more bureaucrats than you did," said Kivrin. "Just like you'll be paving the way for whoever comes after you."

"Until one of them goes back to the twentieth century and invents time travel then."

"That's not how it works."

"Speak," said Colin, remembering he was supposed to be practicing Elizabethan, "for thyself."

* * *

The nice thing about Eton was that it had been around for centuries anyway, so he didn't need to tell that many lies about where he'd come from. He didn't enjoy his study, so he wanted to make a living as a tradesman.

"And are you to be a priest?" asked one of the far-too-many Johns in the company. "I warn you, if you are here to warn us to repent of our carousing, we shall in no ways obey."

"No," said Colin, thinking quickly. English commoners hadn't experienced as much of the violent wars of religion as their mainland counterparts, but their monarchs could easily lose our heads. "I have no wish to come to the notice of the Queen, God save her, nor anyone who may succeed her, and I fear that swearing the wrong oath may be a fool's errand."

"Such a scholar as you," said Stephen, "ought to swear an oath, and soon."

"Indeed?" Colin asked.

"An oath to wed!" He grinned broadly. "What woman, having seen a fellow so gentle and well-kept, would desire oafs such as we? You may have your pick of the fairest ladies in the realm, if you be but true."

The woman Colin hoped to marry was not a subject he wanted to explain in depth. "Perhaps."

"Mind you do not stay here too long, now," a different John warned. "You'll never find a lady worthy of your affections among the theatergoing mob."

"I'm not trying to steal your parts, if that's what you mean."

"What?" Stephen asked.

"I don't want to have an important role in the plays, you should get first consideration."

"Fear not," said John I. "Good John here has not the voice to dazzle as sweet Porcia."

Colin resisted the urge to note that he, too, was well past puberty. Technically, his voice wasn't _going_ to change for another half-millennium or so.

* * *

There was no question that William Shakespeare was exactly what everyone thought he was: an actor from Stratford-upon-Avon who was a prominent member of the Lord Chamberlain's Men with a taste for bawdy humor. Colin had established this on his second day in 1598. He was not dealing with Francis Bacon or the Earl of Oxford, both of whose appearance and mannerisms he had studied in detail before his arrival. His case was quickly, and decisively, closed.

He had considered using the rest of the fortnight to observe the plays in various stages of drafting. But to his pleasant surprise, Shakespeare spent little time sitting over his desk, but rather actively directing and giving suggestions to his fellow actors as he experimented with different stagings. Colin let his interpreter record; Badri could transcribe it when he got back.

Colin also decided against mingling with the rest of English society, finding out how London beggars really lived or dropping in on the aging queen. True, many other scholars would be curious--but if they wanted a more general mission to the late sixteenth century, they knew how to apply for one.

What he wanted to do was to get to know the man, William, himself. What was life like with a teenage girl around the house coming to terms with her father's fame? Did he still mourn Hamnet, and had he started to percolate on a literary namesake? And what was the deal with his wife's second-best bed?

The good news was that Shakespeare didn't ask too many questions about Colin's past, and delighted in showing him around his London quarters.

The bad news was that Shakespeare was _very_ curious about Colin's future.

"Do you fear to leave a widow behind?" he challenged, after Colin had tried to gracefully decline a rather forward advance.

"You don't expect me to actually _marry_ you?"

"I am saying, if you will not let this old fool lead you into temptation, find some woman worthy of your beauty! Let your seed grow in her, that it may bloom to a future made more fragrant by your presence!"

The future Shakespeare surely imagined was not the one Colin had in mind. "Maybe someday. For now, I merely wish to watch the troupe. If that does not offend."

"Offend? But who would be slighted that so handsome a visage has graced us with his presence! You must command the stage, my dear, so that all may see your beauty."

"I fear I cannot stay," Colin said. "My master will expect me back in Oxford, and I ought put his fears to rest."

"Then send word!" Shakespeare said. "Even in such a place as Oxford, my name carries power. None will fear if they know you remain at my side."

Colin couldn't wait to see the look on the de Vere conspiracists' faces when they heard that one. "I shall do my utmost."

* * *

Badri was pleased with Colin's findings, but cautioned him against getting their excited. "Conspiracists will ignore your discoveries if it suits them," he warned. "I mean, there are people who still think time travel causes cancer and kills people's grandmothers. They won't listen to anything you find."

"Maybe not," Colin admitted. "But it gives the academics something new to chew on."

"Oh, I'll say," Kivrin said dryly.

Colin recognized her tone as the one Dunworthy used when he was up to something. "What?"

"Professors have been arguing for centuries over who Shakespeare's poetic muse was, the Fair Youth, before he got involved with the Dark Lady. No wonder they couldn't figure it out, you wouldn't be born for five hundred years."

"I--what?" Colin blinked. "You think Shakespeare wrote about _me_?"

"Sure," Kivrin said. "Worrying about your legacy, raving about how incomparable you were? That's the sonnet man."

"He flirted with a lot of the guys, it wasn't just me."

"Yeah, but he probably knew all their wives and kids too. You were a mystery."

"Even if you had a point, which you don't," Colin insisted, "it's not like I'm ever going to see him again. Wasn't there supposed to be a love triangle?"

"You probably made enough of an impression to stick with him," Badri said. "And besides, the seventeenth century is being re-evaluated independently of the sixteenth. If that rating gets lowered, who knows? Maybe they'll send you back."

"Either way," said Kivrin, "it'll give the English department something to do. I'm sure they'll want to...I don't know, deconstruct your journey."

Colin shuddered. Maybe Kivrin could help him hide out in the fourteenth century, he decided. It was probably safer.


End file.
